One Foot in Front of the Other
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: It was a fabulous mission until... but being partners means no one is left behind. Warning - Gen-Hurt/comfort


The mission had been going like a dream. He and Illya had parachuted in to within a mile of the THRUSH satrapy. They had successfully approached and broken into the compound, stolen the blueprints and then made good their escape, by first racing through a mine field, then scaling down a four-hundred foot drop and swimming a river.

They had avoided being shot, beaten, cut, or bruised in any way. They had congratulated each other and now this.

"Ow."

"I know it hurts, Napoleon, but I need to be able to see your…"

"Will you take it easy?"

"Stop squirming… I need to clean the area and you're wiggling is only going to make it take longer."

"I know. Just… hurry up."

"I am going as fast as I can, considering our surroundings and the reluctance of the patient." Illya held out a hand. "May I use your lighter?"

"Why?"

"I need to sterilize my knife and my lighter is full of photos I don't want to chance damaging the film."

Napoleon handed over the lighter and watched as Illya drew the stiletto blade through the flame again and again. "What are you doing? You're not going to use that on me."

"Napoleon, surely you have taken basic medicine. To leave it in is to invite infection and possible gangrene. I will try to be fast and leave as small a scar as possible."

"Can't blame a guy for trying. How's your hand? And your head?"

"Both are throbbing nicely, thanks. I can blame a certain guy for just about anything. I wasn't the one who wanted to stop and rest in the first place."

"If we hadn't stopped when we did, we would have gone straight into that oubliette."

"True, but you didn't have to trip me."

"And have you take a header onto those pointed stakes? I think you would view a sore wrist and a bump on the noggin as an equitable trade."

"I would if I wasn't about to perform delicate surgery. It makes it hard to focus when you are seeing two of everything."

"Illya?"

"I'm joking… mostly. Now jJust think of girls. I believe those are the instructions you once gave me." Illya bent to his task.

"Ah… that was truth serum, not amputation."

"I'm not cutting off anything, Napoleon. At least, not on purpose. Now hush, I'm trying to concentrate." Illya paused and patted Napoleon on the shoulder. "Would you like something to bite on?"

"What are you offering? " At Illya's scowl, Napoleon mustered a smile. "Sorry, it's an engrained response. Just be quick about it. THRUSH is getting closer with every… Ow! What are you doing back there?"

"I'm relieving you of a burden, or at least trying to. Stop squirming."

For a moment, just grunts and hissing could be heard. The sudden irony of their situation suddenly struck Napoleon and he looked back over his shoulder at his partner. "You know if someone stumbled upon us like this and heard the noises we were making, they'd think we were having…"

"I know what they would think. There." Illya held the knife out to Napoleon, the long thorn glistening wet with Napoleon's blood resting on the blade. "All in one piece. Now, be…"

"Great, now let's get out of here." Napoleon interrupted, straightening up. He nearly fell over, but Illya managed to catch him at the last moment.

"I was going to move slowly, but I wasn't fast enough. There's more irony for you." Illya helped Napoleon stay upright to tug his pants back into place. "You need to be careful, my friend. There is no telling what was on that thorn. The calmer you stay, the more slowly it will spread. We have…" Illya twisted his wrist and bit off a curse. "About two hours to make the rendezvous."

Napoleon reached for the canteen and took a sip of water. He could already feel the effects from the plant. He was lightheaded and woozy. "Maybe I should just wait for you here."

"No, we are partners. We go together or not at all." Illya draped Napoleon's arm around his neck. "Let's move. One foot in front of the other."

Napoleon looked down, amazed at how large his feet seemed. He knew what they said about foot size indicating a man's… size. He very nearly stopped to check. His hesitation made his partner stop. "Sorry, I got… distracted. Illya, I'm feeling seriously unwell."

"I know the feeling, but we can't stop." Illya continued to tug him forward. "One foot…"

"I know, I know."

After a while, it got easier. Napoleon focused totally upon moving his feet, one shuffling step at a time. He ignored the insects that buzzed around him, the trickle of blood running down his leg and into his boot. He ignored the heat, the thirst and even the gradually slowing pace. He was unaware of Illya's breath as it caught in his throat, the sweat that drenched the man's shirt, or even of Illya pausing to vomit. All Napoleon concentrated upon was getting one foot in front of the other.

Suddenly, Illya dropped to his knees and cradled his arm. "I have to stop, Napoleon."

Napoleon looked around. "Where are we?"

"No idea."

"We can't stop. You said –"

"I know what I said," Illya snapped, then his voice softened. "I'm sorry, Napoleon."

Napoleon dug the map out of his shirt pocket and a compass from his pants pocket. It was hard to focus on either item, but he blinked and wiped the sweat from his eyes. Squinting he studied them as Illya remained on the ground, panting. "We aren't more than a mile now."

"It could be two hundred for all I care." Illya took a deep breath. "I have nothing left, Napoleon. Now it's your turn. Go to the rendezvous point and I'll follow along in a bit."

"Nope, you said no one is left behind. You said one foot in front of the other. You helped me, now let me help you."

"Blockhead."

"I've been called worse, Poosy cat." Napoleon hefted Illya to his feet and got Illya's good arm over his shoulder. "Now, here we go, _оставленная нога, правильная ног,а оставленная нога, правильная нога."_

"You using the wrong word for right," Illya scolded as they shuffled forward. "You're saying left leg, correct leg."

"I know what I'm saying, Partner ," Napoleon murmured. "And we are a few yards closer to our goal. Let's see how many other ways you can think to correct me…" He started reciting some poem he'd learned in language class.

"You accent is terrible." Illya grunted and panted with each step.

"Yeah? Well, so is yours, fella, and you smell bad, too."

"There's nothing wrong with my accent… it's the crowd I hang around with."

"Sure, blame your environment. What a dodge."

They kept it up, each time moving forward a step. Napoleon was so engrossed with the banter that the shout, "There they are!" sent him for his Walther.

Two UNCLE agents ran up to them. "Solo, Kuryakin, we'd about given up on you two."

"Never give up on us," Illya muttered, more unconscious than not. "We're a team."

"That's right." Napoleon let them left his partner away from his grasp. For a moment, Napoleon stood there, welcoming the lightness he felt.

"Catch him!" Someone shouted and Napoleon tried to figure out who was shouting and why, but it didn't seem to matter as much now.

He woke up to cool sheets and white walls. His side ached from his toes to about mid chest. He took a deep breath and tried to turn. The attempt made him gasp in pain.

"You just stay still, Mr. Solo. You've got a bad infection, but it's starting to respond to the penicillin."

Napoleon let only his head move and he looked over at a nurse who was busy taking Illya's temperature. Illya's left arm was encased in plaster up to his shoulder and thick bandages were wound around Illya's head until he looked like a swami.

"How is he?" Napoleon frowned, unhappy with how weak his voice sounded. The nurse left Illya and came to stand beside Napoleon's bed. She checked a chart and reached for a hypodermic.

"He's better. You'll both be fine." She injected something into the IV Napoleon had going into his right arm. "That will take away the pain and let you sleep some more. Right now sleep is the best thing for either of you. You two are the talk of Medical."

"Why?"

"How were the two of you able to walk ten miles in the shape you were in? Neither of you should have been able to move, much less cover that much ground."

Napoleon smiled sleepily. He was safe, as was his partner. They had fulfilled their mission and they were both home. It only seemed right that he shared the reason for their success. "One foot in front of the other, my dear. Always just one foot in front of the other."


End file.
